Chapter 2

I was sitting in my office with the lights off.

I was doing my usual victory ritual. The ritual involved closing the blinds and telling my exploits to a bottle of scotch. It was four in the morning. I could hear people milling about the bullpen. They were making calls, getting calls and dealing with lawyers.

As expected, all the rich individuals were no longer sitting in our interrogation rooms. The little lawyer bees had already stormed in. They were ready with claims that their client had no idea what UniCORP was selling, and that they were all morally horrified at the idea of human slavery and simply wanted to go home and forget about it.

The DA said there was absolutely no way we could prove them wrong. In the end, all of them walked.

I swiveled around on my chair in the dark office. Half my bottle of scotch was gone, and I was pouring myself another glass. I don't know why I like to get drunk when I close a case, maybe I'm an alcoholic.

I peeked through the blinds to the street below.

The city always looked beautiful from my window. The night lights of town sparkled off the skyscrapers, and little headlights could be seen moving about the streets. The window was cold to the touch. No surprise. Snow blanketed the trees and sidewalks, and everything looked very peaceful.

Man's city glowed like a gem in the night air. Its radiant peace was a sharp contrast to the shrill sound of voices busily going about Bureau business. Phones were ringing incessantly in the distance, angrily waiting to be answered.

I would have to go out there again soon. I was lead agent on the winter's most exciting case. I would go out there into that throng of people, and stand under the obnoxious fluorescent lights, and tell them they were all doing a great job.

I downed the last dregs of my drink, and grimaced.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I said. Even I could tell my voice was slightly slurred.

Special Agent Jim Brown opened the door.

If I called anyone at the Bureau my friend it would Jim. He was the only one who looked past my age, he was neither jealous of me, nor a rival of my position. He didn't look down his nose at me. He was my superior, and he was the only one who knew how I liked to unwind after a case.

"You drink too much of that stuff you know." He said in his naturally calm and smooth voice. Jim was the specialist at interrogation in the New York chapter of the Bureau. He had a mastery of words that made you feel like you could trust him.

He had thinning blond hair and sharp blue eyes, and always reminded me of an aging movie star.

I picked up the rest of the bottle, and stowed it in my desk, right next to a full bottle and an empty one I hadn't thrown out.

"I know." I replied somewhat sullenly.

Jim gave me a close once over. No doubt taking in my mussed up hair and loosened tie. He shook his head.

"John, if you weren't so good at what you do I wouldn't let you get away with half this stuff. But you do get results. So I put up with your little eccentric moments." He paused. "Just don't let it get too out of hand."

I nodded half heartedly at him.

His brow cleared. "I just came in to let you know that we're sending a raiding party to UniCORP in Chicago. Our boys have warrants to ransack everything and anything. UniCORP will not survive this debacle. The team has standing orders to bring in Dr. Brigs and the CEO Ronald Turner for questioning. Because this happened on our turf our chapter gets to make the interviews. If all goes according to plan we should have them nabbed by breakfast."

"Good to hear." I said, trying to force as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible.

Jim simply eyed me again. I knew my strained reply was not lost on him. Without another word he turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

I dimly listened to the phones ring for another hour.

I sat in the dark for a time. Eventually things in the office settled down. All the immediate work and filing had been taken care of. All the agents with nothing to do stood around the coffee maker. I could hear them talking in a steady murmur.

We were all waiting for a call from Chicago.

I turned on the small television that was perched on top of my filing cabinet. I flicked through late night T.V. I watched two hours of the previous day's news loop on CNN. I wondered what the reporters would say tomorrow. I wondered if there would be a story on my case. The pale glow of the T.V. eventually put me to sleep.

I awoke with a start.

I lifted my head from my desk. A string of drool followed my cheek up.

My phone was insistently trilling on my desk. Have I mentioned I hate phones? I wiped my mouth and picked it up. I managed to mumble something close to "Hello?"

It was Jones.

"Jonathan, get down here. Dr. Brigs has just been brought into custody from Chicago. He and Mr. Dribble are about to get the runaround from Special Agent Brown. We want you on the other side of the glass taking notes."

I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me nodding, "Yes sir, right away."

Jones sighed, "Interrogation room C and D Jonathan, don't linger."

He hung up.

I flung the phone back down into its cradle and frantically tamed my hair into something decent. I straightened my tie, and after wiping the last of the drool from my cheek I ran out the door of my office.

The interrogation rooms were in the basement. Each room had two parts. One was the room where the interrogation actually took place. The furniture in those rooms consisted of simple metal table bolted to the ground, and a similar metal chair also bolted to the ground. The room opposite to it was the important one. Almost everyone knew that the mirror in their interrogation room was one way. But few knew what was in the room behind the mirror.